


More Perfect Than You

by wickedorin



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: AU, Clonecest, M/M, weird emotional stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedorin/pseuds/wickedorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a fill for a drabble request on AwaitingMassProduction: "Barnaby/Argente action. At the  least, drunk make-outs but feel free to let them go as far as they want  to."</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Perfect Than You

**Author's Note:**

> So there's "weird emotional stuff". I mean, what else could I possibly write between these two? (Should I start warning for mentions of Maverick?)

It wasn’t as if Barnaby had _protested_ the idea, really. He just… wasn’t quite sure about it. The only real conversation he’d had with his own clone had been weird enough, and there had been yelling in parts, but… Well, it wasn’t a bad idea to get to know him better. At least to have an evening together, something casual. Nice. Kotetsu had even bought wine for them. (And liquor, but that wasn’t really his personal interest.)  
  
His meddling partner ( _still_ meddling; and to put “former” in front of “partner” just didn’t seem right) also managed to make suggestions about food, but if Barnaby was going to host a little… a little _something_ , he was damn well going to get some better quality food than that questionably Chinese place on the Bronze Stage. In the interest of getting something a little more “upscale” but still simple, he selected a lovely Italian place a few blocks from his apartment. Having put in an order for two “nightly specials” along with a dessert (“Surprise me.”), he barely had time to do a quick double-check of his appearance in the mirror before he heard the almost unfamiliar buzzer that signaled company.  
  
Things were a little awkward, at first. He supposed there wasn’t really a way in which they _wouldn’t_ have been awkward, considering, but when he buzzed Argente through and opened the door for him, that silence… was just a little more obvious than it should have been. His apartment still felt a little emptier than he wanted it to. There was a _couch_ there at least, mostly upon Kotetu’s insistence (and continued meddling), but beyond that…  
  
Barnaby did what any other host would have in the moment: he poured wine. Argente seemed more than happy to accept, and with a few sips for each of them, a little bit of conversation trickled through more easily as they steadily drained their glasses. Particularly when the food arrived, the two of them electing to eat in the kitchen—and filling (perhaps over-filling, truth be told) their wine glasses once more by the time they were through their baked gnocchi. They were halfway through _those_ glasses before finishing with the cannoli, even if the both of them could barely make it through their portion.  
  
It was in standing up to help clear the table that Argente realized his own wobbling. And how unlikely it was that he could play it off when he _knew_ that he was being watched.  
  
Nothing was said. Barnaby notably stood up just a little slowly himself, looking to have just a bit more practice in the matter. Since things were still in take-out boxes, it was an easy thing (if lazy and usually a rather frowned-upon practice) to simply place those containers in the refrigerator. “Let’s go sit on the couch for a bit.” He suggested, sounding perfectly sober.  
  
The walk, though… slight as the difference was, that wasn’t the typically steady and certain gait of Barnaby Brooks Jr. Still, Argente followed, the two of them holding onto those half-empty (half-full, he reminded himself with a little smirk) wine glasses.  
  
Even the way Barnaby sat was just a little bit “off”. barely enough to notice. He waited until the clone was seated next to him, turning on the enormous screen… but setting the station to mute. “A little too much wine?” Not that there was a _judgmental_ tone to his voice.  
  
“I guess. A little.” Argente admitted, staring at his glass. “Sorry.”  
  
Barnaby shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’m a little… more inebriated than I wanted to be.”  
  
“Still using big words, though.”  
  
“That’s what Kotetsu says.”  
  
Argente blinked. “Wow, you— Uh.” No, it probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that little revelation.  
  
Barnaby’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”  
  
He didn’t mean to lie, he really didn’t. But it was all he could come up with in the moment. “Nothing.”  
  
Unfortunately, the former Hero wasn’t going to have any of it. “No, what? What were you going to say?”  
  
With a little swallow, Argente pointed out quietly, “Y-you, um. Have… sometimes, a little… What’s it called? A… lisp.”  
  
Oh. great. So he _was_ drunk. “What about it?”  
  
“N-no, I just… I always thought you were perfect.” Argente admitted, gazing down at his wine glass.  
  
He wasn’t drunk enough to miss the _pain_ in that statement. And it wasn’t the alcohol that made his voice just the slightest bit rougher, quieter as he asked, “Did you?”  
  
There was a long silence from the clone, the wine seemingly more interesting than just about everything else for several seconds. “Well, I was always supposed to be perfect. _More_ perfect than you, but… that just wasn’t possible.”  
  
Barnaby couldn’t explain that sudden taste of copper in his mouth. That warm, vicious, helpless rage that was still too close a memory. “They… _he_. Really wanted you to be me?” He really didn’t bother to find out just how deeply Mr. Maverick had been involved… but he could guess.  
  
“Yeah.” The word was cold. Defeated.  
  
That rage would not be extinguished. “That’s… just not fair.”  
  
Argente snorted. Then took another sip. “Yeah.”  
  
“No, that’s…” What? What words could possibly describe the betrayal to _both_ of them? “That’s a horrible kind of unfairness that should never be forced on _anyone_.”  
  
Glancing up, the clone really didn’t know what to say. His stomach was clenching, having absolutely nothing to do with the wine, heart beating faster…  
  
It was those eyes, mostly. Those wide, scared, hopeful but kicked too many times to let himself hope, jade eyes. “Hey.” It wasn’t even a word, barely a whisper. Maybe he _had_ consumed a bit more alcohol than he’d initially thought, his hand seeming to “forget” that it held anything at all as the wine glass wound up safely on the carpet… but spilled. Spilled, and ignored. “Hey.” He tried again, stronger, reaching to lightly grab Argente’s shoulders. “You should never be forced to be anything. No one should. I don’t know what… what you went through, exactly, but I still understand. I _understand_.”  
  
“Y-you’re… You shouldn’t have to…” There was some different, personal, individual version of that same helpless rage, that _acid_ which ate away at whatever humanity he’d managed to gain.  
  
The how and why, the _what_ , the _thinking_ ; it could all wait. It could all curl up in a corner and die as far as he was concerned; Barnaby was having none of that aching sadness, raging hatred, younger and more pained mirror image that he saw before him. The kiss wasn’t to silence. The kiss was— Well, dammit, he didn’t _know_ and he didn’t want to _think_ about it, letting the wine do its work and just let him _act_ instead of think, reason, try to talk himself out of what he wanted there and then, that impulsiveness winning.  
  
Argente’s grasp on his wine glass simply ceased to be, too surprised to do anything but sit there, stiffly. He didn’t _refuse_ , though; didn’t want to. He just didn’t know what to _do_ , body and mind having absolutely no way to react.  
  
Barnaby really should have pulled back and apologized, at the very least. He should have been thinking about the stains on his carpet, but even that wasn’t important enough to get him to stop; not until those lips responded, delicately and unsure. It was rosé. It was rosé, and he could damn well hire someone to get it out of his carpet later. This, whatever it was, couldn’t wait.  
  
Even wine on his carpet, the idea of having to endure that chemical and false floral scent for a few days after the carpet cleaning, disappeared from his mind when the clone’s lips finally responded. Thought nearly ceased altogether, Barnaby just letting himself feel and want and _do_ as he deepened the kiss until he knew he needed breath, needed to pull back and wasn’t sure if he should ask or assume or _stop_.  
  
Of course, the decidedly unexpected answer came in Argente’s _whine_ as their lips parted. He just wasn’t willing to let that go, to let it end so soon, following those lips and practically crawling into the blond’s lap—  
  
Change that. There was no “practically” about it; the clone had crawled into the Hero’s lap with unpracticed but desperate speed. He had to breathe, they both did, messy breathing through a messy kiss that didn’t seem to have beginnings or endings; it just continued. Of course, that was before Barnaby realized that whatever control he’d had on the situation seemed to have slipped without his knowledge, Argente pushing him back and across the couch, climbing on top of him, taking over that kiss with tongue and just the hint of teeth against his lips—  
  
Barnaby had grabbed the first thing that he could reach to get a grasp of, resulting in the hard _squeezing_ of Argente’s hips, leading into a moan and a broken kiss. The clone was panting visibly, wanting, _needing_ …  
  
 _Sense_ only came with a ringing phone. It was Barnaby’s, the ringtone generic and probably easily ignored, but the way Argente pulled back guiltily was a bigger interruption. “O-oh. I’m… That was wrong. It was wrong, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please d-don’t… I just…”  
  
The reaction had Barnaby blinking and staring for, admittedly, far longer than he should have been. What was the clone apologizing for? If _anyone_ was responsible, “wrong”… Maybe it was that old man’s meddling influence that pushed him to what he was doing, reaching up to wrap his arms around Argente and pull him back down, to get him closer. _Safer_. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Even though he couldn’t see the clone’s face, he knew what the trembling in those shoulders meant. The only thing he found himself capable of was rubbing them, trying to massage and ease, trying to assure with touch because he didn’t have the words…  
  
Those trembles didn’t take too long to still, breathing evening out. Argente’s words were soft and just a little bit rough. “Can I… stay here? Not… not for the night, just… a little bit longer. Right here.”  
  
“Yes.” The Hero didn’t even need to think about the response. “You can stay right here. And you can stay the night, if you want. I’m sure Kurou won’t mind.”  
  
There were questions. A _lot_ of questions, some concerns, but… Barnaby was still holding him. And it was comfortable there. Warm and safe and… “Yeah. I’ll text him.”  
  
“Call.” Barnaby suggested without knowing why.  
  
He supposed he found out when Argente didn’t question it, the conversation quick but… relaxed. Warm, in its own way, the clone smiling and laughing a bit before hanging up. “Kurou and the cat say hi.”  
  
The blond snorted. “Hi back to them, then.” And then, after a beat of silence, “Shall we watch something?”  
  
“Okay.” Argente turned his head to see the screen, but didn’t so much as try to get up. “Whatever you want to watch. Anything but the news.”  
  
Barnaby didn’t even know what that made him laugh. “Anything but the news. Got it.”


End file.
